


Malerei

by cococape



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Based, Dark, Disturbing, Don't expect consistent updates if any, Fantasy, Gen, Grimm's Fairytales, Horror, Painting, Short Stories, Sleepyboisinc - Freeform, fairytale, mcyt - Freeform, setting based, short story collection, tags are subject to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27896473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cococape/pseuds/cococape
Summary: There was once a man named Wilbur,Who played music, played games, had friends.One day, he found a painting,that brought him more bliss than they can.There was once a man named Techno,Who told stories, raised cities, and burned them down.One day, he was offered a throne and a crown,A god by his side, sparks fly, as he watched the fire burn his town.There was once a man named Phil,Who sought skies, sought freedom, sought life.One day the forest gave him thus,A hero he became, a human he was not.There was once a man named Tommy,Who wanted excitement, experience, adventures.One day, he left his fairytale alone.and his friends, he left behind forevermore.[MCYT]
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Malerei

**Author's Note:**

> This story may be disturbing to some audiences.  
> This story is based on the personalities and the characters they play for entertainment, not the people themselves.  
> If the people this is based on express discomfort on their part of the story or this story as a whole, I will delete their part or the whole fic without argument.  
> Thank you for understanding.

Wilbur was the one who found it first.

At the time, it was unassuming. A painting of a landscape he found in his attic, about the size of a crawlspace or a large vent.

But, to be fair, it was beautiful. The sky a thousand shades of blue, pink, and purple. A whole world in the distance, where its feet were only obscured by the thickest of trees. It was painted with oils, and yet… It could almost pass for something digital. The colours were vibrant, like nothing that could ever be achieved in nature, much less through pigments… And yet.

And yet.

In the beginning, he didn’t tell anyone. Of course, why would he? What’s so interesting about a dusty painting in the attic? A painting no one in the house seems to remember having?

He hung it in his room, because he loved it so much. But also because those in the house claimed it filled the air with something, jokingly referring to it as dust or eggs or the plague. But they were being affected in one way or another, even if Wilbur was blind to its effects.

Dark moods and arguments became commonplace in the room where the painting sat. Laughter became louder, to the point where one couldn’t even breathe. Headaches were not uncommon in the room amongst friends, and even as they scattered to go their separate ways, those feelings still lingered and festered in their hearts.

Except for Wilbur. Wilbur was the only one who felt unchanged, whose eyes only sought the pretty colours of the painting, the world that laid beyond.

So he didn’t notice when -- one by one -- his roommates left him. One by one, their friendships fell apart, relationships left in tatters, shredded and left to fall onto the wooden ground.

Later, they would regret not taking Wil with them. Later, they would regret not tossing that painting into a bonfire, watching the colours melt and burn around them.

Wilbur would cry in that timeline. Would hate them for it. But at least he would still be around.

At least they’d know he was still alive.

But of course, that never happened. Instead, Wilbur continued on with his life. He went to his office, he sat at his desk job. He came home, and played video games with friends. Then, he’d stare into the landscape for hours, lose himself until he woke up the next morning on his bed.

His dreams were perhaps just as bizarre and just as wonderful as the painting itself. He would find himself wandering through the trees, hearing the soft whispers of nymphs caressing his cheeks. The water in the creeks were cold and sweet on his tongue, and the only thing he could think and feel was a giddy happiness he hadn't felt in years.

But then he would wake, and the dream would take his bliss with it.

Sometimes, he’d get calls from the messaging app on his computer. The ringtone would wake him from sleep, being the only source of light in the darkness of his room. He would grumble, and hang up, and return to the safety of his imagination. The false reality of his dreams.

After a while, he would get phone calls. Calls from numbers that were unfamiliar to him. Calls from numbers he didn’t remember.

They’d go to voicemail. He’d never open them.

And then one day, nearly a year after he’d discovered the painting, Wilbur heard his doorbell ring. An echo within the silent house.

He tore his eyes off the colours -- the impossible colours -- and wandered over to open it.

“For fuck’s sake-” He began as the world outside blinded him, light assaulting his dilated eyes. But then, he stopped when he saw who it was on his porch. Who they were.

“Wil.”

“Wh-” Wilbur laughed nervously, the people at his door unfamiliar, yet all too close to him at the same time. “Phil? I… I thought you would be… What are you doing here? And... you too I guess, Tommy.”

“Wil, are you a fucking idiot?” He was used to hearing the demeaning language from the teen through a screen, but… This was concern laced within his malicious words. ”Are you okay?”

“You’ve been dark for months.” The dark haired American added in a voice all too familiar to the musician. “We’ve been trying to call you. No one’s heard from you.”

“No, that’s not… right.” Wilbur shook his head, stepping back. “I- Didn’t we play a match just last Wednesday?” He looked to the golden-haired boy for reassurance, and only found eyes filled with fear and concern. “Tommy?”

“Everyone’s asking where you’ve gone,” Phil added, bringing his attention back. “and whether you’ll come back. They’re worried, Wil. We’re worried.”

He frowned. Because Wilbur’s perspective was different. Because he could remember very clearly waking up and making his way to his office. Because he could remember nights chatting in voice calls until midnight, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. Because he had to have done… He had to have… What did he play?

He gave a reassuring chuckle. “Well, Clearly I’m not dead, so you don’t have to worry about it,” He began moving to close the door. “I guess I’ll see you-”

The door suddenly stopped dead as he pushed, an inch away from locking. Confused, Wilbur opened it back up to see Phil pushing against him. The man’s eyes were hard.

“Sorry Wil, but can we come in?” He asked in a tone of voice that suggested that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. This wasn’t an ask. This was a demand.

“I- uh, I’m not prepared for guests at the moment…” He mumbled, weakly trying to refuse.

“Wil…”

“Oh, for god's sake.” Techno pushed forward, and slammed his weight into the door, causing Wilbur to stumble back in surprise, leaving his entrance unprotected and wide open for these internet strangers to come in.

“After you, Tommy.” The American implored, and Tommy practically bounded in, with Phil taking up the rear behind the two.

“Wilbur!” Tommy chortled, as the eldest stared into Wilbur’s eyes with a soft kindness to challenge his glares. “Your house is kinda sad. Like your songs!”

“Yes,” He sighed, exasperated and accepting defeat, closing and locking the entrance behind them. “That’s... kind of the point of them, my songs.”

Wilbur trailed behind the trio nervously as they proceeded to explore the house, the presence of sound almost deafening in a building left in silence for so long. Techno and Tommy bickered as they looked in the empty rooms once occupied by friends, now filled with nothing but vague memories of a life before.

This wasn’t how he imagined he would meet them; Technoblade, Philza, and Tommyinnit. He imagined it would be at a convention, where perhaps he would surprise them, or they would surprise him. And then they would walk around the halls together, the four musketeers, the warriors of old. One of the higher ranking teams in their video game.

Not them coming into his run down and darkened home, finding him worryingly alone with only a painting for company.

And it was at this thought that Wilbur realized that they had finally entered his room, with his unmade bed and sleeping PC. Chinese food littering the ground around the garbage can.

For the first time, he realized how much he truly let himself go, despite not even remembering ever doing so. It was worrying, or it would be…

If it was not for the painting to reassure him.

“...Wil?” Phil asked hesitantly, as he entered the room last. “Wil, this…”

“Wilbur, this is the complete opposite of okay.” Tommy interrupted, kicking over an empty takeout container. “This is…” He laughed. “Now this is sad.”

The musician laughed alongside him, though halfheartedly, looking to Techno for his comment. But Techno had his head tilted, eyes squinting in the darkness at the wall.

The wall with the painting.

“Techno?” Wilbur asked, a smile pasted on his face. “Techno, are you alright mate?”

“Turn on the lights.”

His voice was low, and laced with something. Curiosity? Fear?

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Something made Wilbur hesitate -- he wasn’t sure what -- but before he could decide, Phil had flicked the switch, the lights sputtering to life for the first time in months.

In the light, the colours were brighter. They seemed to shine more, like the paint was still wet on the canvas, and yet that quality somehow made the piece look magical. Something about it…

“Is that the attic painting you told me about?” The older man asked, startling him out of his thoughts. His words seemed to tiptoe around him as if on eggshells. “From like, last year?”

Last year? Has it really been that long?

“I’m surprised it isn’t cursed like your other paintings.” Tommy added, with a genuine hint of shock that resulted in a glare from Wil in return.

But... Techno was still frowning, swaying on the spot.

“Techno?” Wilbur asked carefully, a slight bit of hostility clawing through into his voice. “What--”

“It has parallax.”

Those were not words anyone expected out of the deep-voiced man, for they all stared at him, confused.

“It…” Techno looked at the three, eyebrows furrowed, trying to find the words. “Do you guys not… It has depth.”

Wilbur laughed.

“Techno, you think I’m an idiot? I think I would have noticed if it had something like--” He began, his eyes being drawn again to the pretty image…

Except his friend was right. Like a window, the frame seemed to reveal more of the world behind it as he moved, as if the picture wasn’t there, in the frame, but behind it. Like there was something beyond.

“Wilbur?” Someone might’ve called out, but whatever they said next fell on deaf ears. It was as if a spell had been cast on the musician, as he walked towards the painting in a trance.

It was like a dream.

It was like all his dreams come true.

He took the frame off the wall, and set it on the ground, allowing his fingers to brush the smooth surface of the sky, the bumps that made the trees. He followed the brush strokes of the candy coloured grass upwards, imagining it was he who was the artist, his hand as his medium.

Then, without hesitation, he put pressure on the canvas.

And like water, the surface gave in and his hand fell through.

Something in Wilbur’s brain clicked. A voice that seemed to scream at him in the back of his mind for all these months, finally sighing with relief and being put to rest.

The world behind him was a million miles away.

The one in front of him was right next door.

Distantly, he could hear his friends shouting, but his ears seemed to refuse to hear it.

After a moment’s pause, Wilbur Soot shut his eyes tight and crawled through, leaving his home and his people behind him.

~ ~ ~

For the first time in his life, he could breathe.

For the first time, He could feel warmth -- true warmth, the warmth of love, the warmth of the sun, the warmth of safety -- washing over his body.

The pastel sky greeted him like a lover, one who hasn’t seen him in a long time.

And he could feel the dregs of recognition drip into his brain, of deja vu.

This is his world of sleep, this is the world he lost himself in.

This is the painting. And the painting was real.

“Oh my god.”

Startled, the musician turned around, tense for a fight. But instead, he was greeted with a window, floating in the air, solid and unattached to anything in the field. That room he had stood in only moments before looked dreary, terrible. A nightmare he never wanted to return to.

And Techno had climbed after him, a glazed and dazed look in his eyes that slowly seemed to fade, like he too was beginning to wake up. Wake up from the awful state of a fantasy into the restful state of reality.

And Tommy climbed after him, excitement and a taste for adventure on his tongue, ready to see and feel something new, an experience he’s yet to have in his young age.

And Phil climbed after him, skepticism turned to shock as his shoes touched down on the soft grass, caution and age the water that doused his spark and flame of curiosity and imagination.

“What is this place?” Techno murmured, crouching down, hands running through the harmless blades underneath him. “It’s like…”

“A fairytale.” Tommy finished, wide eyed, taking in the world, the horizon beyond them.

Wilbur simply hummed happily, listening to the sounds of the wind dance around him as he spun.

“Uh-” The eldest was the only hesitant one, whose eyes fell on the dark forest ahead. “Wil, we shouldn’t go any further.” His words seemed to penetrate the magic of the fantasy, as Tommy and Techno’s attention snapped to him. “We need to…”

“Aw Phil!” The dreamer turned to face him, genuine happiness playing on his face, one that seemed to visibly distress the blond, and concern the others. “You’ve always been such a downer in all my games.”

“Wil…” Tommy warned, but the man didn’t seem to listen, only laugh as his feet began to take him backwards.

“Wilbur!” Techno shouted, and sprinted after him, but by that time, he’d already had the head start.

Like a child playing a game of tag, Wilbur turned and ran into the dark trees, once simple lines on a canvas, now made real.

And the remaining two chased after them, leaving their exit behind.

Leaving their last hope behind.


End file.
